From the Start
by Wandering Traveler
Summary: Born with a visible mutation, Remy was disowned by his biological parents. My version of the events leading to Remy becoming Gambit and joining the Xmen.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Born with a visible mutation, Remy's biological parents disowned him. My version of the events that made Remy become Gambit.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Marvel universe, characters, ideas or any recognizable plot lines. This story was written for the non-profit pleasure of fans, myself included.

6,868 words

Chapter One

It had been a long night. Full of cranky would-be fathers, over stressed, pregnant women, and squalling newborns. The sharp smell of ammonia clashed in her nostrils with the warm, sticky smell of sweat and blood. She knew working the night shifts were necessary; it was the only way to move up in the nursing staff. But it was tiring. Even though she had been doing it for three months, her body still did was not used to the nocturnal schedule. The pounding headache behind her eyes protested the cries of the maternity ward. But there was no time to seek out the needed Advil from the med cabinet; she was needed in room 318.

She hurried down the hallway, her nurse scrubs swishing slightly. The other nurses on duty brushed passed her in a blur, too intent on their own work to smile in passing. Not that she bothered to smile either. Kathy had been looking forward to going home to her apartment and taking a much need shower. Now, she had been called in to assist in another delivery. The woman in 318 went into labor earlier that night, and now, hours later, it appeared she was ready to give birth. Kathy had been called to assist Dr. Hunst and the presiding nurse due to staff shortages. That meant at least another two hours of work. Sure, she'd get overtime, but at the moment, she just wanted that shower.

The door swung open, revealing the pain lined face of patient. What was her name again? Mrs. Ferrie? Not that it really mattered. She was the same as the others, some middle class woman insistent on having a natural birth. Her husband was right next to her, holding her hand. He looked up at Kathy expectantly, his face pale and tense from the long hours of labor. She hoped he wouldn't pass out during the birth. It was hard enough dealing with one hysterical woman without having to worry about a squeamish husband.

"Kathy, could you take over here?" Fran, the presiding nurse asked.

Perfect. Just what she needed. The older woman seemed was quite possibly the most ill-tempered nurse Kathy had ever encountered. A nurse for the money and job security, the woman had no wish to help anyone. The squat, sever featured woman was currently on the other side of Mrs. Ferrie, wiping the woman's sweating brow with a cool cloth, acting as mental support. It was the New Orleans hospital policy to have a nurse acting as coach for mothers in labor. Kathy tightened her jaw.

"Of course." She hurried over, taking Fran's place. Great. Not only did she have to come preside over a birthing so close to the end of her shift, but instead of doing any real work, she was to be 'mental support'. Stupid fat middle class cows. Why on earth did they insist on 'natural' births? It was the damn mutant scare. All the conservative middle class felt that too much medical technology was the cause of mutated children. So they avoided the help, lest they be plagued. Stupid. There was no proof for the theory at all, but when had they ever needed proof for their beliefs? The number of natural births in Louisiana had drastically increased, as had the number of Kathy's headaches.

Grudgingly, Kathy took up her post, her own hand grasping the woman's sweaty palm. Mrs. Ferrie had delicate hands, she could feel the fine bones beneath the slick sweat and skin. Her nails were perfectly manicured. And painful. The woman's vice-like grip was pushing her nails into Kathy's hand. With a grimace, Kathy turned her attention to the Mrs. Ferrie's face.

"Shh…shhh…deep breaths, Mrs. Ferrie. Calm, deep breaths. Shh…" Kathy wasn't sure the woman actually understood what she was saying, but the soft murmurs did seem to calm her some. She turned her light brown eyes to Kathy, glistening with tears. She seemed to seek strength from Kathy. It was intense. Those eyes refused to look away.

"I'm going to have a beautiful baby. Beautiful," she said fervently.

Kathy just smiled. Newborns were hideous. Ugly, wrinkled things, wet and covered in blood and gore from the birth. She just smiled.

"You're doing just fine, Mrs. Ferrie. Just fine." She reached out, brushing her sweat soaked hair out of her face. Didn't want those brown strands getting into her eyes.

"How much longer, Doctor?"

Kathy turned to face Mr. Ferrie. He looked pale, his auburn hair carefully combed and parted. It seemed funnily out of place. His hair so well cared for, his wife screaming and sweating in the bed, her own hair a mess of tangles. So stiff too. His hands clamped behind his back. Stiff, and obviously uncomfortable. She really hoped he wouldn't pass out.

"I really can't say for sure, but it should be soon now, Mr. Ferrie." Dr. Hunst replied, his graying head situated at the other end of the bed.

---

Two hours passed. Two hours of sweat, gouging nails, and the inescapable smell of all of it. The blood, the sweat, and other bodily fluids. The mother was farther from birth than originally thought when Kathy had been called in. The shrill screams shot pain through Kathy's head. However, it finally looked like it was nearly over.

"Just a little more, Mrs. Ferrie, one more push!" Dr. Hunst called.

With one more grunt of pain, the woman's entire body tensed, her eyes squeezed shut. Kathy thought she would lose all circulation to her fingers; the woman grasped her hand so hard. But if it meant this would be over with, she wouldn't complain. With the effort, the infant slid free. Fran and Dr. Hunst methodically cut the umbilical cord, and proceeded with cleaning up the infant will making preliminary checks on its health. The usual bustle surrounding the birth, completely professional and routine. Just one more life entered into a world of billions.

"You did great, Julie," Mr. Ferrie soothed as he pushed back his wife's sweaty bangs, steadfastly keeping his gaze away from her still spread legs and the bloody sheets. Most of the tension from earlier seemed to have drained away, leaving a caring husband leaning over his precious wife.

On the other side, Kathy also soothed words of success into Julie Ferrie's ear. She was exhausted, but she couldn't help but smile slightly. This is why she wanted to be a nurse. Why she wanted to work in the maternity ward. Moments like this. It didn't seem to matter that she did this many times in a day, that babies being born was really quite common. She still loved moments like these. This moment.

A moment that seemed to last longer than usual. Much longer. Kathy tried not to look worried. Instead, she continued to congratulate the couple. Time ticked past, and still Dr. Hunst made no move to approach the couple. Normally, he tried to show the tired couples their new child as soon as possible. Kathy bit her lower lip.

"Why's it taking so long?" Mrs. Ferrie asked, worry coloring her voice. Her cooling face was turned to Kathy, questioning, fine lines beginning to etch into her brow again.

"I'm sure our baby's fine. The doctor just wants to make sure of it," Mr. Ferrie soothed, not quite keeping his own worry from his voice. Julie turned and smiled back up at her husband, completely trusting and sure he was right.

Kathy wasn't so sure. Why was the infant so quiet? After taking great gulps of air, the infants generally screamed horribly. Not that she was complaining. Her pounding head certainly appreciated the reprieve. But why hadn't Dr. Hunst brought the child over to the parents yet? He normally tried to stave off new parents' anxiety by showing them their newborn as soon as possible.

"Congratulations, you have a baby boy," the doctor said, his voice stiff, back still turned away from the new parents. Apparently he had heard some of the conversation, though his tone could hardly be said to be reassuring. Still, he did not bring the child over, leaving the couple to their own quiet conversation.

"Did you hear that? A boy, we have a baby boy," Mr. Ferrie said, his face beaming, his auburn hair still stubbornly ordered. Conventional. This couple seemed to radiate the sense of being the perfect middle-class family.

Kathy, patted the woman's shoulder, and walked over to join Fran and Dr. Hunst. The couple was very much involved in themselves. They wouldn't miss her presence. She had been unnerved by the doctor's tone. Something was wrong. The birth must not have gone perfectly. She approached the two other staff members, both the tall doctor and the squat Fran seemed tense.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she whispered, leaning over to peer at the infant in the temporary crib.

"Well, the child seems healthy enough," the doctor said coolly, his face still studiously avoiding the parents. His own voice was hushed, keeping the conversation private. Kathy looked over at him. She had assisted him in many births before and had never seen his face so pale. Not even when he'd had to report a stillbirth to a couple.

"Healthy? I hardly think that's important at this point," Fran hissed. Her older, rather sour face wrinkled in disgust. "What does it matter? It's a mutant. Better if it were weak and dying." Kathy whipped her head to peer back at the newborn, her face bearing an expression of shock. A mutant? No, surely not…

"It's not for us to make such judgments," Dr. Hunst replied sharply. "Go prepare a space for _him _in the nursery." His own demeanor straightened and he glared at the older woman. His very stance seemed to radiate his suppressed anger. Kathy sharply drew a breath. That was new as well. Dr. Hunst never got angry.

Fran left, scowling. Kathy watched the woman leave, watched the door snap closed. Dazed, she turned to look at the sleeping infant. Like so many others she'd seen. A wisp of hair, red hair like his father's, though his was unruly. His skin was still reddened from the birth. How? How was it possible? She thought mutants didn't manifest until near puberty.

"How do you know?" Kathy whispered, leaning over the infant in his temporary crib. He was wrapped in a white blanket, his eyes and mouth closed, still eerily silent.

With out a reply, Dr. Hunst reached over, prying the infant's left eye open. Kathy managed not to gasp aloud, but couldn't prevent the sharp intake of breath. The child had the eyes of a devil. Pitch blackness interrupted only by a glowing red pupil. There could be no mistake. He was definitely a mutant.

"What will you tell the parents?" Her temple throbbed, her pulse echoing her concern.

"What can I tell them? We'll just have to hope for the best." Jaw clenched, he gathered the child in his arms, and slowly carried him over to the blissfully unaware parents. Each step on the white tiles, to the white bed, surrounded by white walls. Only interrupted by red. The red of the blood, the red of the father's and infant's hair, the red of the child's closed eyes. Glowing eyes. Kathy couldn't get them out of her head. And she thought the mother's look was intense.

"We haven't decided on a name yet. We didn't know if it was a boy or girl. Wanted to be surprised, you know? See what name fits him after awhile," the mother rambled, exhaustion still etched on her tired face. She was smiling, a happy, giddy, blissfully unaware smile.

"Congratulations," was all Dr. Hunst managed to mumble as he handed the infant over to the father. The new dad cradle the baby boy, holding him out to present him to his wife. He leaned over Julie, his auburn so rigid.

"Look at our beautiful new son," he said, his face beaming. Julie straightened on the bed, eagerly holding out her arms for the child. Taking him carefully, she gazed down adoringly on his tiny face. It didn't matter that the child was as ugly as any other newborn. She thought he was perfect.

"I think we'll call him…"

Kathy bit her lip, waiting for Julie's reaction. The infant had opened his eyes, and was gazing right back up at his mother. Had opened his red, glowing, mutated eyes. The seconds seemed endless. The child giggled softly, a smile on his face, eyes still fixed on his mother.

"FREAK!" Julie recoiled, holding the infant as far from her breasts as possible. The child stilled instantly. Kathy trembled.

"Now, Mrs. Ferrie, there's no need. Your child is healthy. That is what should matter. And mutants can - ," but Dr. Hunst's words were cut off by Julie's screams.

"Get _it_ away from me! That is not my child!" She cried as she dropped the infant on the bed. Not so much as dropped as violently tossed. Kathy was horrified. All she could see was the fragile newborn colliding roughly with the bed.

Kathy hurried over to pick him up, fearing the hysterical mother would do her child serious injury. She was flailing in the bed, sitting up, despite her husband trying to keep her down. Her face was pale, drained of all color, as was her husband's. She seemed to jerk in horror. Kathy briskly picked the infant, cradling him to her and checking for injuries.

"What did you do? Why is it, how is it here? How did this happen?" Mr. Ferrie demanded, glaring at the doctor as if it was his fault. He was still holding his wife down on the bed as she continued to shriek profanities.

"Now, see here. Mutations are a natural part of adaptation and survival of species." Dr. Hunst's gray eyes looked a bit harder, a bit colder.

"Natural?! There's nothing natural about that!" Mrs. Ferrie screamed, her face once again becoming flushed, her hair wildly matted about her face, and her eyes flashing. She was not a caring mother, a refined middle-class woman with manicured nails. She was an animal, rabid with rage. Mr. Ferrie seemed equally upset, however in a drastically different way from his wife. His jaw set firmly, fists clenched at his side, completely still, taunt with repressed rage. Like a well groomed executioner.

"Kathy, would you please take the child to the nursery?" Dr. Hunst requested, his gazing never leaving the Ferries. Kathy nodded, and hurried out of the room, anxious to leave. She couldn't get out the image of an enraged mother throwing her own child. It unnerved her how quickly things had disintegrated. As she walked down the hall, she could still here the yells of the upset couple. The red eyed child was still silent. Quiet, calm. The perfect baby.

---

She finished cleaning the babe, dressing him in a white gown, and put him in a crib in the nursery, away from the other children and the window. She didn't want other parents and families gazing at their newborn to catch a glimpse of his red on black eyes. Uncertain, Kathy went about the nursery, doing odd jobs, even though her shift technically ended hours ago. Doing normal things, the routine had calmed her greatly, but she couldn't leave.

Dr. Hunst hadn't yet returned from room 318.

She was folding the freshly laundered blankets when she heard the door open. Thinking it was Dr. Hunst, she turned around quickly. But it was Fran. The cranky woman stopped, frozen by the door when she saw Kathy standing there, still holding a blanket.

"Why are you still here?" She narrowed her gaze, glaring at Kathy. Kathy scrunched the blanket in her hands and moved to hide it behind her back like a guilty child caught staying up late.

"I…I just thought I'd take care of a few little jobs. You know, I just keep meaning to do them, but keep putting it off. Just thought…"

"You're waiting for Dr. Hunst, aren't you? Don't see why you care. Mutant is none of your concern." The woman huffed, letting the door close behind her. Trapping Kathy in with her.

"Ah was just curious," Kathy mumbled, slipping out of her carefully controlled speech and into her accent. Raised in the French Quarter, Kathy had worked hard in college to rid herself of the accent which singled her out. Now it only emerged when she was nervous. The squat woman moved to join her near the infant's crib. She scowled down at the babe, her flat nose crinkling in disgust.

"Yes, well. Damn thing probably will become a State ward. Meaning my tax dollars will go to feed it. They're just a plague on hard workers like me," Fran mumbled. Shooting one last glare at the child, she moved away to make her usual check on the infants in the nursery. Kathy went back to her folding, watching Fran go about her task from the corner of her eye. She noticed Fran didn't bother checking the mutant boy's stats. When the last one was done, and the chart clunked heavily in place on the side of the crib, Fran left, leaving Kathy alone in the nursery once more, surrounded by the carefully lined cribs of infants. She sighed in relief.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure Fran was gone, Kathy walked over and checked the little boy's stats herself. He was sleeping, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.

"It's okay, yah know. It's not like it's your fault," she whispered to the infant. "I think you're pretty cute mahself. Yah'll do jus' fine." She methodically checked his heart rate, the small I.V. pumping nourishment into his veins, marking his chart on the attached clipboard.

The door creaked behind her, making her jump and turn. The clipboard clunked heavily on the floor. Dr. Hunst came in, looking a bit paler than usual, rubbing a hand across the faint stubble shadowing his face. He worked the kinks out of his neck, rolling his head side to side, and glanced at Kathy. He sighed.

"Well?" Kathy asked, her hands clutched together, turning parts of her skin white with the pressure.

"I'm afraid…well, they just couldn't be made to see…" He sighed again. His entire body had lost his usual straightness, the air of confident authority. Now he simply looked like a tired old man. Kathy didn't like the change. He walked to stand next to her, placing his hand on the side of the glass crib, he gazed at the tiny infant. Kathy stooped, picking up the clipboard and placing it in the slot on the side of the crib. Biting her lip, she stood beside him, unsure of what to do next. What do you say when a family has chosen to disown their newborn child?

"They won't have him. A lawyer is coming tomorrow so they can sign off their rights as parents. He'll be a ward of the state." Dr. Hunst didn't look at Kathy, checking the infant's stats himself.

Kathy stilled, watching the measured calm of Dr. Hunst's hands. His large fingers pressing lightly on the infant's pale wrist as his eyes fixed on his watch, timing the pulse. A little old fashioned and unnecessary, but Kathy wouldn't say anything about it. It was easier to do something.

"What happens then?" Kathy whispered, never looking him in the face, just watching his hands still and then slowly retract.

"I don't know. I guess, a state worker will come to check on him, but until they find a place for him…I guess he'll stay here."

"What?" Kathy frowned, her gaze moving to her shoes. 'Surely, they'll put him in a foster home. Or at least an orphanage."

He looked over at her, and Kathy looked up to face him. His eyes were dull, dark circles shadowed the underside.

"It's not so simple. It's hard to even find orphanages that will take a mutant, let alone foster parents. They don't want them disrupting their lives or the lives of their charges."

His gaze flicked back to the infant. Kathy left it at that. They went back to simply watching the sleeping child, the nursery oddly quiet as all the infants slept. The baby boy rolled his head, the auburn tuft rubbing against the white sheet. He made a mewling sound in his sleep.

Kathy reached down to smooth the wisp of hair of the abandoned infant.

---


	2. Chapter 2

The social worker had been in twice that week. Not that she'd ever stayed long. A short, plump woman, she reminded Kathy of an overstuffed pillow. With her dirty gray hair pulled into a severe bun and her stiff posture, she looked ready to burst her seams. Stray wisps of hair escaped her attempts to keep them from her face, threads beginning to fray. The thin hair framed her brow, clinging to her skin from the sweat.

Nothing had been found for the black and red eyed child. No orphanage, no foster care. Nothing. It had been three weeks, and still, nothing. Not that Kathy had minded his presence at the hospital. He just became part of the routines, as if he were a premie, forced to stay longer than the normal infant. Of course, physically he was fine. Except for the eyes. They seemed to be developing and functioning well enough, but they showed no signs of losing the eerie red on black coloring.

'Red Eye', as the nurses had taken to calling him, had been taken out of the nursery, and put into a small, private room. Away from the prying eyes of other patients, nurses, and doctors. Kathy had been one of three nurses assigned to care for the infant, since she did not recoil in disgust or horror when asked to do so. She couldn't help but notice the way the other nurses shied away from his crib, how they whispered about the infant in break room. None of it had been terribly malicious, but they hadn't been kind either. In fact, the lack of attention they gave the infant was appalling. True, it wasn't officially part of their job to coddle the infants there. They were professionals. That's what the parents were for. Yet, it always happened with the others. The nurses would coo at the babies, speak softly to them while making their checkups, play with them for a few seconds. Not with him. He received the fastest checkups, in the coolest, most clinical manner from the other nurses. Now that he was moved, he never saw any of them except for her and the other two nurses assigned to him. Isolated, alone, at the end of the sterile hallway.

She was taking the graveyard watch tonight, down at the end of the hall, in his room. He slept incredibly well for only being three weeks old. A perfect baby. Mothers were never blessed with such a good sleeper. He usually made it about six hours before fussing, wanting formula. It was just her to appreciate it, though. And frankly, she had to be up anyway.

He was still very small, despite having an average calorie intake of three times the normal amount of an infant that age. It had really given her a bit of a scare. At first, Kathy had given the child the normal amount of formula recommended. However, it quickly became apparent that this not only left the child hungry, but also caused him to fall behind developmentally. The poor thing would cry and fuss continually until they were able to figure out what was wrong. After consulting with Dr. Hunst, and a few tries with different amounts of formula, it was decided that 'Red Eyes' had an accelerated metabolism. It appeared he required about three times the normal amount of formula to grow and maintain proper health. The fussing had stopped then. He'd been remarkably good afterwards. Happy, even. Though what the child's body was doing with the extra calories, Kathy still didn't know.

She had been there the last time Mrs. Kunnert, the social worker, visited. It had been an uneventful meeting, with her only staying fifteen minutes. Just like her last visit. Mrs. Kunnert had requested an update on the child's health and gave a brief summary of the still unsuccessful search for a place for the child. She also dropped off the check for the hospital for their continued care of the state ward. The woman didn't so much as glance at the object of their discussion, the little person laying quietly in the crib. Instead, she had kept herself buried in that manila envelope, immersed in details and paperwork.

Kathy was beginning to think there would be no home for him. It wasn't just the stories about the system being overloaded. It was the woman's manner. It was the way nearly everyone she'd met had treated the mutated baby. The chances of 'Red Eyes' being adopted was slim to none.

'Red Eyes.' Kathy gazed down at him, lying in the crib, his little chest easing up and down with his breathing.

"It's not your fault, you know." Of course it wasn't. That wasn't going to change things. Kathy spun on her heel, crossing to the other side of the small darkened room, and peering out of the slanted blinds covering the window in the door. Chewing the corner of her lip, she turned to look at the child again.

"They're not going to do anything for you. I know it," she whispered. Her hands were clutching her elbows and sweat began to form on her nose. "There's no future here. Perhaps, I mean…He might be able to help."

She really didn't know. In fact, the first time the scientist had approached her, she'd initially recoiled from him, finding his offer to be obscene, _wrong_. But now…well, it wasn't like the infant had any other choice. She certainly couldn't bring him home. No one was going to adopt him. No foster home would take him. At best, he'd be put in the dirtiest, most run down orphanage and left to the care of some unsavory people who'd do God only knew what to him. All she could see were the nurses turned away, the woman in her paperwork.

Yes, there was no other choice.

Her decision made, Kathy moved quickly to the counter, scooping up an extra blanket, and then hurried over the still sleeping child. She reached down, carefully lifting him up, supporting his head, and wrapping him in the blanket. 'Red eyes' didn't wake, just squirmed a bit in his sleep. Holding him close to her scrub covered breast, Kathy went back to the door, peering out of the blinds and down the hallway. It was deserted, the florescent lighting flickering off of the white tiles. With one hand, she slowly opened the door, carefully pushing it open, trying not to make it creak. This end of the ward was very quite, and purposely so. The less chance of someone discovering the mutated child, the better.

Kathy took a shaky breath, sweat dripping freely down her chin. The salty tang of it assaulted her tongue as she nervously licked her lips. She clutched the child firmly to her in an attempt to still her quaking hands. Slipping out, she let the door close, slowly, trying to keep quiet, willing the dirty brass hinges not the squeak. With one last hurried look, she slipped down the tile hallway, towards the far door - a maintenance exit into the alley. The metal door quickly gave way, almost too easily. The cool night air chilled the sweat on her face, making her shake even more. Too easy. It had been so easy. She'd expected to be caught at any moment. It had been so easy.

What she was doing was not only against hospital policy, it was illegal. She was kidnapping. No getting around it. That was the cold hard fact of the matter. It made her sick to think about it. Sure, she thought it was the best for the poor kid, and no one would look too hard into the disappearance of a disowned mutated child, but still. It _was_ kidnapping. Kathy leaned against the dirty metal door, closing her eyes, her breathing still shaky. Part of her wished she'd been caught. That the options had been taken away, that she wouldn't be here, having to make these decisions. She just leaned there, cool metal at her back and the forbidding alleyway in front of her.

Red Eyes' squirming brought her to attention. How long had she been there, just breathing? She didn't know. Breathing. Why did it seem to take so much effort? He was awake now. His haunting, glowing red pupils focused on her, quiet, but unnervingly intense. He kept quiet, almost as if he could sense her own need for silence. She had to move. Quickly, she wrapped the blanket more tightly around the child, and went to the street to catch a taxi.

---

"Sir, the taxi has just arrived."

"Does she have the child?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent. I shall be out in a minute."

"I'll let her know, sir."

The messenger left, closing the heavy metal door behind him, leaving the pale man in the black suit alone in the room. The blue glow of the computer screens and the small desk lamp were all that illuminated the seated man. He was a little surprised that the foolish woman had taken him up on his offer. He didn't think she'd have the nerve to do it. Nevertheless, this was perfect. It meant one sample would be much easier to obtain. Though, he wasn't sure what he'd do with the child afterwards. It wasn't as though he wanted, let alone had the time, to raise a child. Perhaps his other contact in New Orleans would take it off his hands. Yes, no doubt that unsavory character would be the solution.

All that mattered was the research. He was getting closer to understanding the so elusive x-gene. No doubt the research on the gene and its changes and effects on a developing mutant would prove fruitful. Yes, fruitful indeed.

With a slightly sinister grin, the dark haired man leaned forward, typed in a few finishing words in his experiment log, then stood to greet his contact who had provided his next sample.

The numbers were falling into place. Just like they should. He appreciated it when things worked so logically to his advantage.

---

Kathy had been a bit unnerved when Dr. Essexhad approached her outside the hospital. She had no idea how he'd found out the hospital was caring for a mutant child. Let alone that she was one of Red Eyes primary nurses. But he had certainly seemed genuine. A little pale, reserved and formal, and obviously not from around here. England, perhaps? She didn't know. But he'd been well dressed, cool, cultured. And just a hint of passion. Of something more.

At first, she wondered if he was crazy. She didn't know what it was, but something about him, the manner in which he held himself, the obsessive formality, stiffness even, of his posture seemed to send off warning bells in her head. But that wasn't rational. He certainly seemed like a well educated gentlemen. His carefully combed, gray hair, immaculate suit, cultured accent. Perhaps more like Dr. Hunst. A respectable, decent person. He had invited her to the nearby restaurant for a drink, and patiently answered all of her questions, without ever demanding she make a decision. And then suddenly he gave his goodbyes, his card with a telephone number, and was gone. It had all been so abrupt, but not pressuring or threatening in any way. So logical, so right.

He wanted to adopt the child. He did. Why go through her? Well, because of the inhibitive cost and intensive paperwork of legal adoption. Bureaucracy had made it so difficult, it really was outrageous, and as a single man, he had little chance of actually obtaining permission. She'd seen for herself what had happened. The woman with her paperwork and no concern for the people. Why did he want Red Eyes? Yes, he knew about the mutation. As a scientist, he understood the gene, did not fear it. He even respected it. Thought the child would make 'an interesting addition'.

Sort of strange, how he put it, she supposed. And, it didn't seem quite right about the adoption stuff, but then she had heard the adoption process was a pain. Initially, she had no intention of going through with it. None. She'd just said she'd keep it in mind, just to be respectful of the Doctor. And she had. The last two weeks, she'd seen how hospital staff treated the infant, seen how little the social worker seemed to care, had even overheard people referring to the infant as 'The White Devil'. And the entire time, in her mind was a tiny voice that said _someone wanted him. Would care for him. Wanted him in his family._

So, yesterday morning she'd dialed the number. She'd been given an address and a time was arranged. Now, here she was, child in hand, standing before the pale man, still in his somber suit, standing in a nursery room. So ordered and easy. It was a nice home. Old, brick building, with classically decorated rooms, and now this one, all prepared for a baby boy. Light blue wall, a white crib, with cute duck patterned blankets. Just waiting for a child. Soft and comforting. Idyllic, really.

"How did you know I'd bring him?" she asked, shifting foot to foot, looking around the almost too clean room.

"I didn't. But I hoped. And prayed." The man smiled the same cool smile she'd seen before. He was just reserved. That was all. Right? Just because he wasn't a total slob, didn't mean anything. Heck, it was obvious he could provide for the child. What other choice did she have?

"Do you want to hold him?" Kathy held the child out towards him, away from her body. The man's eyes widened and she swore he somehow managed to stiffen his body even more.

"Oh, of course, please," he replied, just a little slow. Maybe he just was shocked that she'd asked, trusted him like that. Yeah, that had to be it. He walked over, taking the child from her arms, holding him awkwardly.

"Don't forget to support his head," Kathy chided gently. She nervously glanced at the baby's head, limp and unsupported.

"Oh, of course." He shifted, so one hand was holding the child's head. Red Eyes stirred a bit, opening his eyes and looking at the stranger holding him.

"Fascinating," Dr. Essex said, leaning over more closely, to peer into the child's unusual eyes. Red Eyes squirmed some more and began to cry. Dr. Essex just turned his focus to Kathy. "Is this the mutation that you spoke of?"

"Yeah, uh, he was born like that," she replied, looking at the still crying infant.

"And were there any other manifestations of his mutation, or was that it?"

"Uh, he also seems to have an increased metabolism." Kathy shifted, looking around the room for a bottle. Though, likely there wasn't anything prepared yet. Then again, Dr. Essex already had a room set up. Maybe he had some formula too?

"Fascinating. How much has the mutation increased it?" Dr. Essex went and set the infant down in the crib without bothering to put him under the covers at all. The crying lessened, but didn't quit. Red eyes squirmed fretfully in the crib. That wasn't like him. He was normally so quiet, so strangely still and content. Not here.

"Well, I don't really know. We just had to give him about three times amount of formula. He's probably crying because he's hungry. Do you have some formula for him?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course. Some is prepared and in the fridge downstairs. Is that all? Are you sure?"

"All what?"

Dr. Essex frowned, "All of the child's mutations?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, I guess all we noticed. Why?"

"I just want to be sure I can take the best possible care of the child." He smiled, coolly taking hold of Kathy's elbow and leading her out of the room. Kathy looked behind her shoulder as she was led out. Red eyes quieted as Dr. Essex moved away, looking through the crib at Kathy with those glowing eyes. Then her view was cut off as Dr. Essex closed the door sharply behind her.

"Well, I can't thank you enough for what you've done. You've proved very helpful, making me very happy. Very happy indeed," Dr. Essex said as he continued to steer Kathy down the stairs and to the door.

Frowning, Kathy collected her things. He probably just wanted some time alone with his new child. She was sure he just didn't want to feed him and be rude to her, she was a guest. No doubt he wanted her to leave so he could go back and feed him. Surely.

Her things collected, she opened the door, going back outside. It was still dark, but no doubt dawn would be here soon.

"Oh, wait," Kathy turned around, looking back inside, holding the door.

"Yes?" Dr. Essex said, a bit impatiently.

"I was just curious, is all, about what you were going to name him."

"What? Oh, uh, I guess, I don't know. I…I was a little torn. I have several names in mind that I like. Uh, do you have any suggestions?" He shifted anxiously.

"Me? Oh, well, I guess I would probably name him after my granddad. He was so nice and sweet, just like he is, ya know? His mother was French, and she gave him the name Rémy."

"Remy? French? Well, I suppose that's an idea." He didn't seem too concerned. "Thank you for all your help. I do appreciate it." Without further ado, he shut the door. Kathy could see his image receding in the fogged glass.

_He probably wanted to go get some formula ready for Remy._ _Surely that was it_. Kathy turned to leave, a slight frown on her face, and walked over to the phone booth to call for a taxi.

---

"Mike, get out here, now," Dr. Essex said as soon as he'd managed to get the woman to leave. He thought it had gone rather well. Sure, the name question had caught him off guard. What would an experiment need a name for? It was sample No. 23. However, he felt he had averted that crisis fairly well.

"Yes sir?" The small man, the messenger from before, had appeared from the back dining room, where he'd been told to remain during the duration of the woman's visit.

"Feed it, three times the amount of formula, then pack up. Were going back to the lab." Dr. Essex swiftly moved to collect the few things he'd brought into the house. His coat, hat, and brief case. He didn't want to stay here any longer than was necessary.

"Yes sir."

"Oh, and make sure it remains healthy. I don't need an illness contaminating the specimen."

"Yes sir." Mike retreated, going to the kitchen. The damn thing was crying again. Dr. Essex's nose crinkled in disgust. He could hear it all the way down here. Well, no matter. A quick trip to the lab, a phone call to Mr. Fullard, and he was rid of the thing. He wouldn't need another sample until the child was five. Yes, this had all worked out quite well.

It took forty minutes for Mike to round everything up. Dr. Essex had already gone back to the lab. He wanted it to be ready when Mike arrived with No. 93. His lab in this state was set up underneath a bank, in a suburb of New Orleans. Perfect really. No one suspected the entrance near the ATM. Who would question a person entering information at one? It's perfectly normal.

Perfect. Just like his operating room. Spotless, each piece had its own place, down to the last scalpel. The operating table, complete with restraints and lighting was the center of the room, with an adjustable side table to hold instruments. He already had it set up with a syringe, tweezers, sealable test tubes, and a collection of other items he might need while collecting samples. Everything was pre-labeled, typed labels. He even had sedative ready. Didn't want to bother with an uncooperative specimen.

A knock came from the heavy metal door. Instead of replying, Dr. Essex merely checked the room one more time then moved to the touch pad which controlled access to the room. He wasn't particularly worried about anyone breaking in, but he didn't like to be disturbed when he was working. It rather upset him. With a few entered codes, the door slid open, revealing Mike, holding No. 23. Good. The specimen was unclothed, as he'd specified. Mike was one of his more reliable lackeys. Though, it was making that horrid squalling noise again.

"Strap it down on the table." Dr. Essex moved to get the sedative.

"Yes sir," Mike replied, moving with the screaming child clutched tightly in his arms. It was thrashing, eyes squeezed shut, only occasionally opening to flash burning red eyes at the Doctor. Mike put him none to gently onto the table, holding him down with one forearm while reaching across to secure a restraint around his middle. No. 93's body was obviously reacting to the cold air and table, and Mike was consequently sprayed with urine. Dr. Essex's nose crinkled at the sharp smell. Disgusting thing.

"Hold the right arm down, under arm face up."

Mike complied, grasping the infant's wrist and twisting it, so the soft part of the elbow faced up, and held the arm still. His own expression was less than sympathetic, the urine having soured his own outlook on the whole project.

Without ceremony, Dr. Essex quickly swiped the inside elbow with iodine and inserted the syringe, slowly pushing sedative into the bloodstream.

"Is that really good for him?"

The Doctor merely glared at his assistant. Perhaps he wasn't such a good lackey after all.

"It won't harm the samples. The risk to the specimen is acceptable." He placed the now empty syringe back onto the tray. "The sedative is taking effect." No. 23 had already stopped its incessant screaming, and the eyelids were dropping over the duller eyes. Interesting. It seemed when agitated, the specimen's eye luminosity increased. Dr. Essex leaned over and made an entry in his notes. He looked over to see Mike still standing there, watching the now unconscious infant.

"Why are you still here?"

"Sorry sir." Mike took a few steps back. "Goodbye, Remy."

Dr. Essex had barely heard his last words. No doubt his assistant had not meant them to be heard. Mike turned, and briskly left, the door hissing shut behind him.

Dr. Essex frowned. Obviously the man had eavesdropped on his conversation with the woman. What did he mean by calling No. 23 Remy? It upset him. It was just a specimen. Just a specimen. It didn't need a name, did it? No. Just part of his research. Numbers were so much more logical, with sense and order to them. He'd have to deal with Mike latter. Now, he must concentrate on collecting samples. Yes, he was anxious to begin observing the x-gene.

He started by collecting the blood samples, taking perhaps more than was normally advisable from an infant, but he was confident it would be alright. The dark fluid was put into separate containers, thick and glutinous. He put it in the freezer, complete with his own preservatives he created in order to keep the blood from spoiling. That way he could study the blood as if it were fresh many years later.

That done, he moved to collect a skin cell sample. Again, he wanted more than was normally taken, in case something should contaminate it. He took a sharp knife directly to the infant's hip, cutting off a small strip of skin and muscle, straight to the bone, and discarded the fat. He placed the sample into specially designed bags and into the freezer. Only then did he move to bandage the weeping wound. Sticky blood had already spilled out onto the table, making a mess of things. No matter. He always cleaned and sterilized the table after each operation anyway. Wouldn't want to contaminate any samples.

Finally, he moved to take a sample directly from the eye. This was the tricky part. He didn't want to damage it, less he loose important observations on the development of the eye and its function latter on. However, he desperately wanted to look microscopically at what made this specimen's eyes so unique. He inserted a thin needle into the black eye while holding the lids open. Gently, he pulled the needle sideways, creating a tiny gap. A small hook was inserted into this gap and scrapped gently at the eye, removing a tiny bit of matter from the inside. He carefully enclosed the sample into a Petri dish, letting the gap close with the thin needle still inserted. The sample taken care of, he slowly pulled out the needle, the flesh of the eye pulling up slightly with the needle. The eye ducts were flushing the area with tears. The needle pulled free, and he allowed the eyelids to slide shut. The area appeared a little puffy, but he was certain that, given time, it would heal just fine.

By this time, the specimen was a mess. Despite the sedative, he –_ it_ - had broken out into a sweat, its face smeared with tears, and blood staining the soft, white hip. No matter. The samples were perfect. Dr. Essex allowed himself a crooked smile.

---

Mike stepped into the questionable alleyway, a small bundle in his arms. Trash lined the narrow street and a strong smell of rotting fish emanated from it. In the late dusk light, the entire area fell into shadow, with some holes darker than others. He'd have never come here willingly. Few did.

As usual, having finished his project, Dr. Essex had no further interest in the subjects of his work. So, it was left to Mike to wander into the seedy sect of the French Quarter and search out _Mister_ Fullard.

Halfway down, Mike stopped and leaned against the brick building, squinting down the alley. It was just dark. He couldn't see much. Of course, the shadows always seemed to be shifting. He'd hoped that he'd get this done with quickly. Not only was he worried about his wallet being lifted, he didn't like the whole idea of this.

Looking down at his burden, Mike saw Remy was still awake, but quiet. The infant barely stirred, but kept his focus right on Mike's face, as if waiting for a signal from him. Mike could feel the bandage on the infants hip though the blanket. He wondered if Fullard would have the necessary supplies to keep it from getting infected. He wondered if Fullard would even care.

"Sorry, kid. Not my choice, you know." Mike shifted restlessly. When was that man going to show up? Checking his watch, he saw he was already five minutes late. Sighing, he looked back at the babe.

"Don't see why you have to go to him. Could have a family, like, not grow up with that scumbag, eh? Picking pockets and the like. Just not right for a little one like yourself."

"Quest'ing Sinister's motives, are you? 'Snot a good idea, if ya know what's good fer ya."

Mike straightened and turned, lip curling in disgust. A man had emerged from the shadowed alley, hunched and clothed in rags. It was him, alright. Couldn't miss the smell, even if you didn't see the mess of greasy gray hair matted over the man's balding spot. Also, the lower class _Swamp Rat_ accent was hard to mistake.

"When's the last time you've bathed, Fullard?"

"Ah, not much time for dat fancy stuff. Not when ya got t'ings ta do, like run a guild, eh?" The stooped man shuffled back a bit, and smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth. He'd have been taller than Mike, if he'd ever stood up straight. Instead, forever crouched from picking pockets and talking to children, he'd grown a bit crooked, with a hump on his back.

"Oh. Well, the two main Guilds seem to do just fine." Fullard didn't reply except to give a mucus filled snort.

"Well, I suppose we should get this over with." Mike said. "You understand what Dr. Essex wants?"

"Yeah. I take care of the brat, he pays me, I get to train him for my guild. Give him to Sinister when ever he gets the whim. Got it." His tone had gotten a bit rougher. Apparently the jab about the other two guilds had stung a bit. Mike would have smiled, except he had to give this foul man the kid. Mike looked down at the kid one last time, every muscle tense with the thought that he'd be raised by the likes of Fullard.

"Well, ya gonna hand 'im over?" Fullard squinted at Mike's face. Getting the feeling that Fullard was catching onto his thoughts, Mike hastily handed the kid over.

"Merci." Infant tucked in his arms, Fullard turned around and began to disappear into the filth of the alley again.

Frantic, Mike called out to him as his figure disappeared. "His name's Remy!" For some reason, he felt it was important. That woman, the one from the hospital, she seemed to care. Really care. The kid should have a name from a person who cared.

Peering in to the dark shadows, Mike saw nothing. No response came back to him. Just a crumpled piece of newspaper skittering across the pavement.

---


	3. Chapter 3

A.N. – This chapter is part of the reason for why this story has such a high rating. It contains implications of child abuse and gritty scenes which may make some uncomfortable. Nothing explicit, but not shying away from the ugliness of living on the streets. Many people in real life face equally if not more horrifying circumstances in our country. It is no use trying to make it seem grander, more romantic than it is. So, you have been warned. This is not for those with delicate sensibilities.

Chapter 3

---

"Alright, brats! Get up. Dawn's almost here!"

The rough shout was enough to make Remy stir under his ratty blanket. He shivered. The brown, scratchy material did little to keep out the chill morning air. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the light. Not that there was much to see. The floor he was laying on was wood, old, scratched, and covered in filth. There was another stirring brown lump just a few feet away from him. That would be Joey. He too must have been woken by Fullard's call.

Remy yawned and stretched. Every bit ached.He was tired. Very tired. He was hungry too, but he was always hungry. He'd probably been out late last night, picking wallets from the drunks wandering back from the bars. Judging from how dark the drafty room was, it wasn't dawn yet. He frowned. Fullard usually didn't wake them before dawn if they'd worked the drunk bit the night before.

Not that Remy would remind Fullard of this. He didn't want to be hit.

Pushing his dirty auburn hair from his eyes, the undersized boy quickly scrambled to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He hastily bent down again and picked up the battered pair of sunglasses that had lain next to him in the night. He knew Fullard didn't like it when he didn't have them on. Something was wrong with is eyes, and it made the others nervous.

That done, he quickly made his way to stand before the hunched man. Joey had managed to emerge too, and stood next to him as the rest of the kids began to fall into line. Remy couldn't see into all of the corners of the room, not with his sunglasses on and only the small, dirty light bulb illuminating the room. But he saw enough. He'd always been able to see better than the others in the dark.

Other children began to emerge from the ratty blankets. They were shivering, the drafty building let in the cool morning air, and their clothing did little to protect them. The kids themselves blended together with their surroundings. Ranging in age from 3 to 14, they were all dirty and too thin. The Children's Guild. Usually orphans, kids of prostitutes, drug addicts, and gang members, Fullard had taken them in, teaching them to pick pockets, making his own guild. Remy was five. He'd been here since he could remember.

Joey shifted next to him. He was a few years older than Remy, though not much taller. Though Remy was woefully thin, he was tall for his age. He could almost look Joey right in the eyes. Not that he ever did without the sunglasses. Joey was paler than him, and coughing, _again._ Remy didn't look well, with bags under his eyes, being unnaturally thin, and always dirty. However, Joey looked worse than him. Remy had heard him coughing through much of the night. Everyone had for the last week. Joey hadn't been doing very well picking pockets, either. Which meant Fullard gave him less food. The coughs made his whole body shake, like it was trying to break in two.

Remy frowned. He'd have to try to get some extra for Joey today. He owed him. Despite his misfortune, Joey was the one who looked after Remy. Remy was always getting picked on by the other kids. It was his devil eyes. They called him _Le Diable Blanc._ When things got a bit too rough, Joey told them to back off. It was well known Joey had Fullard's ear, and no one wanted to draw Fullard's attention. Though recently, Joey didn't seem to command Fullard's favor in the same way.

"A'right. We all gonna go out today. You've all done crap work." Fullard's breath filled Remy's nostrils, smelling of alcohol,_ again_. No doubt he'd spent all their earnings on the drink last night. "Y're not bringing in enough money. No food. None, fer three days. And it'll be longer if ya don' start bringing more in!"

Three days without food? And more money? Remy brought in more in the last few days than he'd ever had. How could he get more? He didn't know why, but he couldn't last as long as the others without food. He went weak. Thinned out faster. No matter what Fullard said, he'd have to take time to steal food. Couldn't work, otherwise. And what about Joey? The other children seemed to blanch even more at the news. Not that any of them moved or dared to say anything.

"GET!" Fullard threw the nearest kid out the door, and the rest scrambled behind. No one wanted to be the last out and subject to Fullard's rage.

Outside, in the dark of predawn, the children skittered off, melting into the shadows. Remy joined them, pushing his dark sunglasses up to make sure his eyes remained covered. He slinked down an alley, headed towards the bakeries. The Guild House wasn't far from the French Quarter, and he knew the bakers would be the first up and moving today. He paused briefly and frowned. He could hear Joey's cough from two blocks down.

---

By late morning, Remy's hands were shaking. Yesterday had passed in a blur of hunger. The day before had been tough, but not as bad. It was now the third day. Remy had only taken time to snatch some bread yesterday. That he'd shared with Joey, who could barely walk now. He worried that if he didn't bring in enough money today, Fullard would extend the time without food.

The man before him obviously had money. Wasn't too bright either. Remy saw him sell a jewel to another man, saw the money go into the pocket of his trench coat. He could still make out the outline of the wallet. But his hands were shaking. He was dizzy, the distances seemed longer and then suddenly shortened. He was beyond hunger. He felt his belly was a huge cave squeezed down, clamped down into a painful ball.

Joey was sick. If Remy was able to get this man's wallet, with all that money…

Maybe Fullard…

His small form crept forward, as silently as he could make himself be. Small, unnoticeable. No one turned. The man was still talking, unaware. Just a bit more. His hand stretched out to the pocket, trembling. A bit, a bit more…_Merde!_ He'd hit the jacket! How could he have hit the jacket?! He hadn't done that since he first learned to pick! He couldn't have misjudged, it was there, right there, and…

Merde. The man. He was looking at him. Right at him.

Remy took off down the nearest alley, stumbling as he ran.

---

Jean Luc was impressed. The normal street urchin couldn't get anywhere near him without him noticing. This one had nearly nabbed his wallet. Right out of his pocket. But he'd missed.

He'd immediately turned to see who had tried to pick his pocket. The boy was scrawny, underfed, and very filthy. Not to mention the smell. His eyes were covered with large, dark sunglasses. The gaunt face was painful to look at. He looked like he should be from some war torn country in Africa, rather than in the midst of wealthy tourists in Louisiana. The boy seemed to be frozen in shock, but only for a second. He was soon trying to run away. Though, he seemed to be falling, more than running. Normally, Jean Luc wouldn't have given it a second thought. A child trying to pickpocket you in the French Quarter was as common as hearing the French language itself. However, he had almost managed to pick the pocket of the head of the Thieves Guild. That was something to note.

---

"Joey, Joey, wait!," Remy whispered in the alley in front of Fullard's base.

"Remy? Tha' you? Didn' see you there." Joey turned, squinting into the dark alley. It was well past midnight, past the prime pickpocket hours. Time for the kids to report back to Fullard with what they'd collected, so he could go out and drink.

"Joey, I got more." Remy slinked closer to Joey, sitting beside him in the dirt next to the dumpster.

"Wha'? What ya mean, ya got more? No one could'a got more than Fullard wanted." Joey crept forward, crouching down next to Remy. Joey peered at his friend. Remy's hands were clasped around something.

"Look," Remy opened his hands, revealing a cache of bills, folded and thick.

"Where you get all that?" Joey whispered, awe in his voice. It looked like more than he'd ever managed to get in a week, let alone a day.

"Bunch 'a tourists. Couple 'a stupid people, down by the docks." Remy began dividing the bills, making two piles on the dirty asphalt. "Got enough, can split it, yah? You get half, I get half, plus you have what ya got before."

"Why? Why would ya?"

"'Cause. I don' need all it. Fullard would just wan' me to bring in tha' much normally if ah did." Remy slipped his dark glasses off, revealing his glowing pupils. Though Joey could only make out his outline, Remy could see him quite well. He looked paler than usual, and he was sweating, even though it was a cool night. He was sick, really sick.

"T'anks, Remy. I'll help ya, no matter what." Joey smiled, and Remy smiled too. Together, the two boys carefully picked up the precious bills, and made their way into the building, to present their earnings to Fullard.

---

"Where did ya get tha' money?" Fullard growled, eyes narrowed at the two boys before him.

"Docks. Bunch 'a tourists," Remy replied. Joey just coughed. They were in Fullard's personal room. Remy had never been inside. Fullard didn't let them in. Though Joey had been in there before. Before he'd lost Fullard's favor. Before he'd gotten sick. Now both boys had been ushered inside after showing Fullard the cache of money.

"Worked together, then?"

Joey slid down to sit, his back against the wall, his tiny frame shaking as he tried to breath.

"Yah, that's right," Remy said, looking back at Fullard.

Fullard grinned. He didn't normally grin. Remy shifted his weight, glancing back at Joey. Joey just stared back at him, not saying a word. Revealing nothing.

"We gonna go now? Get some food?" Remy asked, backing away from Fullard. He didn't know why, but the grin still on Fullard's face was unnerving him. He just wanted to go.

"Didn' say ya could go,_ Diable Blanc_." Fullard reached out, grasping Remy's frail wrist tightly in his meaty hand.

"Joey, make sure no one bothers us. We're gonna be busy," Fullard ordered, his voice low and husky.

Joey stood shakily, looking at Remy. Remy was pulling, squirming, trying to free his wrist from Fullard's suddenly steely grip. His red, glowing eyes sought out Joey, pleading. Fearful.

Joey stood, just a moment more, then left. Turned and left, walking quietly out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Fullard pulled Remy closer, still grinning. The money lay forgotten, scattered on the ground.

---

"What took ya so long?" Henri asked as Jean Luc entered his study, removing his heavy coat and draping it over the chair behind his mahogany desk. Henri watched as his father turned to look at him.

"A boy nearly got my wallet today."

Henri blinked. Jean Luc smiled. Did he mean...No, surely not.

"You're joking, right? No one gets near you." Henri moved closer, eyes squinted. What was he saying? What did he mean by that? Jean Luc just smiled.

"Not joking. Small thing. Couldn't have been any older than four. Maybe five." Jean sat down, pulling the canter of bourbon to him and pouring a bit of the amber liquid into a glass.

Henri took a seat in one of the maroon chairs opposite of him. He ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. His thirtieth birthday was approaching and already he was loosing his hair. Not like his father. Past fifty, Jean Luc still had a full head of nearly black hair. It was only just now showing a slight sprinkling of gray.

"Got to be Fullard's." Henri said, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. A child that small wasn't generally a proficient pickpocket, unless taught how. And the French Quarter was part of Fullard's territory. Though, his urchins never had been proficient enough to nearly take a wallet from a Theif, especially not the patriarch of the Guild's wallet.

"That's unusual," was all Henri said. "What are you thinking?"

Jean Luc took a sip of the alcohol and then set it down again, leaning back into his chair. The room was fairly dark, not only because it wasn't well lit, but also because of the way it was furnished. Mahogany furniture, walnut shelves filled with books. And a few display cases, filled with varied objects. A dagger inlaid with jewels. A bronze figurine, a richly decorated magnifying glass. In the corner was a large, standing globe, made of semi-precious stone and precious gems. Everything from opal to diamond. A normal man may have locked such valuables in a safe, but then Jean Luc wasn't a normal man. No one could penetrate the security around him. Besides, someone would have to be crazy to try to steal from the King of Thieves.

"Such talent is a rare gift. It shouldn't be wasted in Fullard's rotten company," Jean Luc said, looking at him.

Henri nodded.

"How are you going to integrate him? It's been a long time since we've taken anyone outside of the family." The Guild was a closely knit group. Members were family, raised in the art of thievery. Trained from a young age. The only outsiders in many years had been the spouses members. And none of them had taken any jobs. Instead, they played other roles in the guild. Caretakers of children, housekeepers and the like. His own wife, Merci, was good at working with Tante Mattie in taking care of kids and treating wounds.

"He'll be family. Our family. Your brother." His father was looking at him, waiting for his reaction. Brother? Henri didn't know what to think. It made sense. As an adopted child of Jean Luc LeBeau, the kid would be tied firmly to the guild. Raised and trained to make the best use of his apparently natural talent. But a brother? A younger brother? He'd been an only child for so long. What would it be like, having a kid running around the house?

"Makes sense," was all he said. "You want us to contact Fullard?"

"Yes, if you would. Convince him that he'd be better off without the child." _In other words, convince him he didn't want the wrath of the Thieves Guild focused on him_, Henri thought.

"When?"

"A month from now. I have some things to get in order." Henri stood to go, turning toward the heavy wooden door. In a month he'd have a brother.

"Henri?"

He stopped, turning to see his father had risen from his chair, and was walking toward him. Jean Luc still was a few inches taller than him. His blue eyes locked with his.

"You're my son. Always will be." His father hugged him, strong arms embracing his body. Henri smiled, hugging him back.

"It might be nice to have a brother," he whispered back.

---

Remy felt cold. He didn't know what had happened to his shirt. Was probably still _there._ He shivered against the wall. The main room was empty. All the others were out working, picking pockets. It was late morning. Not Remy. Fullard had ordered him to stay. In case he needed him again.

He'd tried to throw up. But he didn't have anything in his stomach to empty. Instead, he'd just dry heaved in the corner, acid burning his throat. He couldn't think. Couldn't. Cold. He was so cold.

He heard the door creak. He tried to ignore it. Didn't want to think what it meant. Couldn't think. Wouldn't think.

He felt the hot hand on his neck, sweaty, disgusting. He flinched, tried to squish into the wall. But it was irresistible. Pulling, demanding. That hand. That horrid, hot, sweaty hand.

He was in the corner again when Joey came back. Shirtless, shoeless, no socks. Cold sweat covered his thin frame. His ribs stuck out harshly. Joey didn't say anything. Didn't ask. Didn't talk about it. He just went and got two of the blankets from the floor. He touched Remy's shoulder. He flinched.

Joey paled. He knew. Still, he said not a word, just wrapped his friend in the blanket and sat down next to him.

"You knew. Why? Why'd ya go?" Remy asked, his voice hoarse, accusing. Joey didn't say anything. He knew. He didn't want it to be him, so he'd left Remy to take his place.

"Ya left. You said you'd help. No matter what."

Joey said nothing. He stood, looking at Remy. Small, squished to the corner, covered in the two ratty blankets, still shivering. It was him or Remy.

Joey left. He chose himself.

---

Two weeks. Two weeks since he'd first been in Fullard's room. He'd been given more food than the others since that time. Now that Fullard…he'd been allotted more food. He couldn't stomach it. Half the time he heaved it up again. But he ate it. He would never turn down food. Couldn't afford to.

At least he was working again. Picking. If he tried hard enough, he wouldn't think of it. Instead, he became more daring, plotting the best ways to get the wallets of the richer, more paranoid people. He was better than ever.

He didn't talk to Joey anymore. Or the other kids. He always slept as far away from them as possible. Alone. He just didn't talk anymore. He didn't hide his eyes from them either. He wanted them to be scared.

He still wore the glasses outside. The light still stung his sensitive eyes and it was still better not to attract attention. He'd done well today. Again. Like always. It was just past 5:00, people would be rushing about, heading home soon. Too busy. He'd wait 'til closer to 6:00 to pick some more. When people were more relaxed, on their way to restaurants for supper.

In the meantime, he decided to hide out in an alley next to one of the hospitals. He took off the glasses, which were rubbing his face, making his ears sore. He'd nicked a few roles from the bakery down the street. He was nibbling on them when the maintenance door opened.

---------------

Kathy had been promoted not long after that night. The night she'd taken the infant. They never knew it was her. Never suspected. Though, they'd never really tried. Dr. Hunst had looked resigned about it when he'd heard. Almost like he'd expected it to happen. Like he knew the baby would just disappear. She watched as his blank eyes, watched his blank expression when he was told. Ever since, he'd always seemed blank to her.

She'd waited a few days before calling the number again. Waited to make sure no one suspected her. Waited to give him time to get used to having a new baby. Then she'd called. She just wanted to check up on him.

A woman answered the phone. She had no idea who Dr. Essex was. Baby? Her baby was over a year old, and why did she have this number? Kathy had been advised, rather forcefully, to never call again.

That's when she'd remembered. Remembered all the twinges, the uneasiness around the man, the subtle oddities. How could she have been so stupid? Now she realized. Now, when it was too late.

And she'd been promoted. That was the worst part of all. No late nights for her, only occasionally working weekends, no working holidays. More time to herself. More time to remember.

She drank. Not an alcoholic, she never got drunk, but she drank just the same. Spent hours with the lights turned off, in her apartment, nursing a drink, letting infomercials run on the T.V. It was the same dirty apartment she'd had five years ago. She could afford more now, a nicer rental, maybe even a down payment on a house. She didn't bother.

Kathy didn't bother about a lot of things now. The dishes would pile up in the sink, she never wore make-up, didn't do much with her hair. She didn't sleep well, either. She almost always had dark circles under her eyes at work. Work. Kathy still did that. She worked hard, did the best she could. Trying, trying to make up for what she did. Not that she ever could, in her mind.

Her shift ended at five now. She collected her stuff from the staff room, and moved down that hallway. Past the room where he'd stayed. Out the same maintenance door she'd gone out that night. Forced herself to remember. To punish her idiocy.

She was rummaging about in her purse for her car keys when she looked up. Kathy didn't know what had caused her to look over at the dumpster. Some movement, a flicker of red, some feeling? She didn't know. But she did. And there were the red eyes.

She froze. It couldn't be. Red eyes, glowing, surrounded by black. Auburn hair, though it was so dirty you could hardly tell. So thin. Emaciated, almost. God, he was so thin. And his clothes. If you could call them that. No more than rags really, all reduced to the same dirty gray color, no matter what color they'd originally been. And the burning red eyes. Still so intense. Knowing.

God. He was alive. Sort of. He looked a bit like a corpse, but there was food in his hand, his thin chest was moving up and down, he was breathing. There. He blinked. Alive, yes. Oh God. He must be living on the street. She had to help, get him in the hospital, feed him, something!

Katy took a step toward him, the shock still apparent on her face. The boy twitched, and then was gone. Just gone. Disappeared, so quickly down the alley. Gone. He was gone. There for no more than a few seconds, then gone.

Kathy collapsed to the dirty asphalt, he purse dropped, the keys forgotten. She just sat, staring blankly at where the eyes had been.

---

It hadn't been hard to arrange a meeting with Fullard. Henri just spied one of the street urchins roaming the French Quarter, pulled him aside and gave him a message to deliver to Fullard. The kid didn't say much, didn't acknowledge that he worked for Fullard. But Henri was confident that the message had been delivered.

It was just past dusk when the kid appeared. Joey? Was that his name? Henri couldn't remember and didn't really care. The ratty kid looked like he belonged in the alley, part of the dirt and the trash, but not a true thief. Not one with the shadows. If he had been, Henri wouldn't have noticed. No, this one was doomed to mediocrity. A rat if he ever saw one.

Henri himself could have just disappeared into the shadows. He was dressed in all black, the subtle clothing blending well with the surroundings, yet not so unusual that they couldn't pass in the busy streets with the crowd of people. He could have escaped the urchin's notice altogether, but he needed the brat. No doubt he was sent to lead him to Fullard.

The kid approached slowly, looking wary. He stopped just short of Henri's reach. Untrusting. Henri just nodded. The kid turned away, walking back the direction he came, and Henri followed.

He didn't say anything as they walked. Instead, Henri just watched, took in the surroundings. They were moving farther away from the main thoroughfares, farther from the decadence of the French Quarter, into the decay that marked the slums. Henri hated coming here. Nothing worth stealing, and never needing the services of the lowlifes, the Thieves had no reason to tread down these shadowy streets. The smell alone was deterrent enough.

Fullard was not a character he liked to deal with either. Greasy, drunk, and a pervert. His Children's Guild was a shameful aspect of the city. A place where humanity decayed and the lowlife perverts of the next generation created. Disgusting as it was, it was left alone. No one else took care of the kids. Abandoned by what parents they might have had, the government certainly wasn't going to do anything for them. The government was more concerned with the wealthy and their votes, making only token efforts towards the poor to appeal to the middle class. The rot was unavoidable. At least with the mockery of a Guild, it was somewhat contained.

The boy brought Henri to the most dilapidated building he'd seen yet. Without stopping or looking back, the kid opened the weathered door, and stepped back, holding it open for him. Henri entered, confident Fullard wasn't smart enough to stage an ambush. He stepped into the room and heard the door close behind him. Only one dusty light bulb lit the room. Maybe twenty sets of eyes reflected the light, all gazing at Henri, in his subtle, but well kept clothing. Perhaps seven others were laying down on the dirt covered floor, with tattered blankets pulled over them. The stench was incredible. Sickening smell of unwashed bodies and a pathetic lack of sanitation.

His guide led him across the room. Henri followed, careful to avoid stepping on any of the sleeping forms, avoiding the as much of the filth as possible. He passed one kid, a little girl, who was eating some moldy bread. No wonder most of the kids seemed ill.

Henri turned away, disgusted. For the first time, he really thought about what the kid he'd be picking up would be like, his new brother. An urchin. Filthy. Starved. With lice. It made him sick.

The room the kid led him to wasn't much better. A beaten up bed in the corner, a few blankets in slightly better condition, a pillow. And bottles. Lots of bottles. The smell of alcohol and sweat mixed. And there was Fullard. Sitting in wooden chair, far to small to support the overweight man's bulk.

Fullard turned to look at Henri. He smiled, yellow rotting teeth showing between his cracked lips.

"Ya can go, Joey," Fullard ordered. The kid looked briefly between the two, before going out the door, into the other room. He closed the door behind him.

Fullard didn't move, didn't stand or offer Henri a seat. Not that he would have sat down in this place anyway.

"Wha' can the great Children's Guild do fer ya?" Fullard said, grinning up at him.

"The Guild? Do you mean that pathetic group of underfed kids out there? Nothing. They can do nothing," Henri replied. He stared at Fullard, at his gut, the dirty yellow shirt, stained with spilled drink. The few stands of greasy, gray hair still clinging to his bald head.

"Well, ya'r tha' one that wan'a meet wit me. Wha' ya want then?"

"A boy from your _Guild_ nearly picked Jean Luc's wallet about a month ago."

"Is tha' all? Well, din' get it, did he? So, what's the problem?" Fullard shifted, leaning his weight back on the chair, propping it on only two legs. The chair groaned in protest.

"The point is, he_ nearly_ got his wallet. Managed to sneak up on the head of the Thieves Guild. And we want to know which kid did it. That's the point." Henri shifted as well, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Yah wan' ta punish 'im?" Fullard asked, not at all concerned.

"Look, just bring the kids out so I can talk to them."

Fullard grunted, shifting again in his chair. The wood groaned again, then gave out with a crash. Fullard dropped straight down, landing on his back and hitting his head on the table on the way down.

Henri smirked. Pushing off the wall, he strolled over to gaze down at the man on the floor. He quirked one eyebrow up, questioning.

"The kids?"

Fullard grunted again. Henri didn't bother hiding his soft chuckle. Stepping back, he let Fullard pick himself up, leaving the remnants of the chair splayed on the floor.

---

The urchins were lined up in the dank room in Fullard's attempt to make some pretense of keeping order in his guild. Some of the kids were coughing, others swiped their noises with their grubby hands. None of them watched Fullard pacing back and forth, all of them gazing fixedly at Henri. They knew who was in charge of this meeting. Knew who was responsible of having them roused and brought in front of the two men.

Henri smirked. These kids were smarter than the man who professed to lead them. Not that it was a hard of a feat to accomplish.

"Now, listen up, ya brats. This man here," Fullard pointed unnecessarily at Henri, "says one of ya tried to pick the pocket of the head of his Guild. Which one of ya was it?"

Not surprisingly, none of the urchins spoke up. Hell, like they'd know if whose pockets they were picking. Henri stepped forward. They weren't going to get anywhere with Fullard questioning them. He'd already been here longer than he'd like to be.

"Look, I just want to know if any of you tried and failed to pick the pocket of this man. He would have been tall, with a big, black coat on. Dark hair. Thick wallet. Lots of money. Just meet with a man, sold a jewel. It would have been a month ago, just outside one of the really nice jewelry stores in the French Quarter. Any of you remember trying to do that?"

Still, none of the kids spoke. Henri was getting frustrated. Why would they bother to fess up to the failed deed? Would they even remember that one incident?

Finally, the boy who guided him spoke up.

"Was pro'bly Remy."

Fullard hacked. Henri glanced over at him. Fullard shifted foot to foot, sweat slipping down his fat face. Deciding to ignore him, for now, Henri walked over to the boy, squatting down to his level, and looking him in the eye.

"Why do you think it was Remy?"

"'Cause he's the only one who'd 'a tried. Rest o' us know we'd get caught outside a store like that."

Henri squinted at the kid, trying to see if he was telling the truth, or just trying to get an enemy in trouble.

"He's good, then?"

"Yah. 'Surprised he din' get the wallet. Guess has to 'appen sometimes." The boy turned aside, coughing feebly. Finished, he straightened and looked right back at Henri.

Henri straightened. Turning back to Fullard, he noticed the man's obvious discomfort.

"Which one's Remy?"

Fullard's little eyes quickly glanced up and down the line.

"Mus' not be back yet."

Henri turned back to the boy. Joey?

"That true?"

The kid just nodded. Henri patted the kid's bony shoulder. He felt him tense in response, but didn't pay it much attention. Kids living in this condition were bound to be skitterish. Instead, he turned back to Fullard, glancing at him to make sure he followed him, then moved to the corner of the room.

"I want to wait for this Remy to show up. Then I'm going to talk to him. You are not to interfere. You understand?" Fullard hesitated, looking around the room, as if he were afraid someone was listening.

"Look, ya aren' the on'y one interested in tha' brat. I got other interested parties."

"I don't give a damn about your other interested parties." Henri turned back to the line of kids. He moved back in front of Joey, leaving Fullard to sweat in the corner.

"Will you tell me as soon as Remy gets back? I'll just be over here, okay?" Henri pointed at the single chair in the room, situated directly across from the door. Joey nodded.

Henri moved back to the wall and sat down, facing the door. Fullard, recovering himself, moved quickly back to the center of the room, dismissing the kids, ordering a few out to work in the streets. Grudgingly, he left Joey to inform both himself and Henri of when Remy returned. He then went back to his own room, grumbling the whole way, and closing the door behind him.

Henri waited. Sitting on the chair, occasionally getting up to stretch and pace a bit before settling back down in the chair. This Remy, he seemed to be the most likely candidate. Remy. Good French name. Other interested parties? Was that just Fullard trying to keep hold of his most profitable pick-pocketer, or was there really someone else looking for the same kid as he was? If there was, who? And why? This entire situation was more complicated than he thought it was going to be.

It was past 11:00 when Joey approached him. Henri hadn't seen anyone come in the door.

"Remy back?" He asked, glancing quickly around the room, but not noticing any new faces. Joey shook his head. "Well?"

"You, I just…ya arn' gonna hurt him, are ya?" The kid was a quivering mess. Pale eyes looking imploringly up at him. Henri was surprised. Hadn't expected him to say something like that.

"No. Just want to talk," Henri assured him. Joey didn't seem convinced.

"Never jus' wanna talk." The kid didn't move an inch, still standing in front of him. Looking ready to take off at the slightest movement.

Henri smiled sadly. Yes, the kid wasn't dumb. Knew more than a kid that age should.

"How old are you?"

"Eleven. Bin here almos' as long as Remy."

"Yeah?" Henri sat up a little straighter. Maybe he'd find out a bit more about this kid who may be his new brother. "How long have you been here?"

"Four years. Remy still a baby then, though he was sorta walking."

Henri did the math in his head. That'd put the kid at about five. That was about the age Jean Luc guessed the kid would be. Merde. That was young. And he'd been here as a baby?

"Remy 'da best pickpocket dere is. Always get more than tha rest o' us. Even if he still be little." Henri swore the kid's voice hinted at pride. Probably helped the kid along. Taught him some. Without another word, Joey walked away, back to the blanket he'd left to come over to Henri. Back, not by the door, but by a small hole in the side of the building.

It was a little over an hour later when Henri noticed movement back by that hole. It was dark in that corner, but he could just make out a small, thin kid crawling through. Henri looked at Joey. He nodded.

Standing slowly, Henri carefully made his way towards the new kid, taking in his appearance as he did. Dark sunglasses on, despite the dimly lit room, dirty hair, couldn't make out the color with so little light. Tall for his age, though. Not much shorter than Joey.

The kid caught sight of him and froze. Joey quickly got up to go fetch Fullard from the other room. Henri kept walking towards him. Remy backed up, crouching down, prepared to skitter back out the hole in the wall at the first sign of danger.

Fullard crashed through the door, a heaving and bulbous mass. The kid visibly shook. Henri would have whipped around to glare at Fullard, but he was afraid that if he took his eyes off of the kid, he'd just disappear the way he came.

"Remy, get over here. Now," Fullard demanded, his words slightly slurred. Henri watched as the boy cringed, slinking forward silently and warily towards Fullard. Not that he went far. He was still a good five feet away from the man when he finally stopped. This seemed to enrage the drunk man. He lunged forward surprisingly fast, grabbing the kid's head and pulling him right up against his fat body.

"Tryin' ta keep yer' distance, are ya? I'll teach ya better than that." Fullard's hand was firmly in place on the boy's head, keeping the struggling kid firmly pressed against his sweaty thigh. Henri had seen enough.

"Fullard! The boy. Mine. Remember? No interfering." Henri rushed forward, glaring at Fullard, his body coiled, every muscle tense. Fullard froze, his gaze barely focused on Henri. He slowly nodded, then steered the boy into his own room. The kid protested mutely the entire way, squirming, trying to slip out of his grip. However, Henri followed closely, ready to grab the kid if he did manage it. He knew if the boy left the building, he'd probably never find him again. He couldn't let that happen.

Inside the room, Fullard flung the boy over to the wall, and latched the door shut. The kid quickly scooted as far from Fullard as he could get, pressed tightly into the corner, his knees folded firmly up against his body. Fullard grinned, but didn't move any closer. Henri glared a Fullard, silently warning him to stay out of this. He walked slowly over to the boy, as unthreateningly as possible. Crouching down, he tried to look the kid in the eyes, only to see himself reflected back in the opaque black plastic.

Couldn't have that. He moved swiftly, not giving the boy a chance to protest and removed the sunglasses from his face. Henri found himself stilled by searing red. Twin dots of burning red surrounded by glistening black. They were, without a doubt, the most shocking eyes he'd ever seen. And the look. Intense. Scorching. Fearful? There was so much emotion in those eyes. Henri stood up, and took a step back. Taking a breath, he turned to face Fullard.

"A mutant?" Fullard just nodded. Turning back to the boy, he noticed the light had diminished some from his eyes, a bit of a softer glow, and the look spoke more of fear and resignation, rather than defiance and anger. Henri crouched back down, looking to catch the full attention of the boy again. Hesitantly, the kid looked back up at his face.

"You're name Remy?" He spoke softly, trying to calm the obviously panicked boy. _Merde._ This was not what he'd expected at all. A mutant. A small boy with mutated eyes, raised by Fullard in this squalor. He wondered if his father knew what he was getting them all into.

The boy nodded. _Remy _nodded, Henri thought.

"Do you remember, about a month ago, trying to get the wallet of a tall man, in a black coat, outside a jewelry store? He just sold a big gem. Do you remember trying to do that?"

Remy nodded slightly. Barely perceptible. But he seemed to be calming, somewhat. His eyes still flickered nervously to Fullard's face, but he wasn't shaking nearly as badly.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Henri asked softly. Again, Remy's eyes flickered over to Fullard. He opened his mouth, but then closed it, swallowing. When he began to speak, his small voice sounded gritty, disused.

"Ah…ah saw 'im outside de shop. He jus' got a bunch 'a money from another man. Put it in his pocket. Big coat. Easy enough. But, ah hit the pocket. Hand kinda shook."

Henri nodded. Jean Luc had said it was a faint brush on his coat that first alerted him to the fact someone was trying to get his wallet. He had also just received a cash payment for one of the Guilds smaller jobs. Stealing a gem. He'd also described the kid as looking starved, probably too weak with hunger to keep his hands steady. Looking at the boy in front of him, Henri could believe it. He practically looked like a skeleton.

Henri nodded. He was convinced. He didn't know why, but something was telling him this was the boy they were looking for. Henri learned long ago not to dismiss his instincts. He stood up and turned to face the still grinning Fullard. Disgusting man. That grin just didn't look right to Henri's eyes.

"This is him. I'm going to take the boy back with me, and you are not to interfere, do you understand?" Henri kept his voice low and level, though the tension and underlying threat was prevalent not only in his tone, but in every line of his body.

"Ah can't. I mean, I got people interested in this boy. Can't have 'im disappear." Fullard ran a hand over his forehead, the grin finally gone from his face. He shifted back against the door, nervously eyeing the man in front of him.

"I said I don't care about your other interests. Now, move."

Still Fullard didn't move, looking down at Remy, still sitting in the corner. Henri turned back to the boy as well. He reached his hand out towards him. And he waited. Remy looked at his hand, back a Fullard, and then up at Henri. He gave a slight nod, and then put his own tiny hand in Henri's. Henri straightened, and Remy stood up, following him, though quickly letting go of his hand.

"_Move._" Henri demand through clenched teeth. Fullard moved. Henri moved out the door, with Remy following him at a distance. They moved though the room with the other kids, all of them watching them leave. Out the door, away from Fullard, away from the tattered blankets, away from the stench.

Henri kept moving down the alleyways and streets, with Remy following him. He kept the boy in the corner of his eye, but didn't force him to his side. Remy followed him all the way to where he'd parked his car. There they stopped, and Henri unlocked the door.

He turned to look at the boy. Remy had moved closer, but was still out of reach.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Henri tried to reassure him. "That man whose pocket you tried to pick? He's my father." Still no reaction. The red eyes just kept fixed on Henri's every move. "I promise, we aren't going to hurt you. He's not mad. He just wants to meet you." No movement. "You hungry? I'm sure I can get Merci to make you some gumbo." There. A flicker of interest. "Please, come with me. You decide you like Fullard's better, you can go back. Just give it a try."

Remy shifted, his eyes going back to the alley, looking back towards where Fullard was. Henri watched him visibly shudder. Without another word or any hesitation, Remy walked over to Henri. Henri opened the door, and Remy climbed right in.

---


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – I apologize this has been so long in coming. Moving out of the country, starting a grad school course, it's all been a bit much. This chapter's been sitting around partially finished for months. This chapter has been impossibly hard to write, far more difficult than the previous ones. Not much happening in terms of events, yet vital all the same. I wish I could promise you that I'll be better here on out and that I'll update with some regularity, but honestly? I'm not even sure if this will ever be finished. I'm not giving up on it yet, but don't get your hopes up to high either. Oh, and as for the accents and French – I'm awful at it. I tried to add just a touch, but well…anyway. That said, here's chapter four.

---

Remy had never been in a car before. Henri quickly realized this. It made sense. But he hadn't really considered it before. Maybe he should have.

The kid was squirmy. He'd nearly bolted when Henri tried to put the seat belt on. In fact, the kid wouldn't let him get anywhere near him. The tiny body simply quivered in fear, pressed as far away from Henri as possible. Henri ended up trying to talk the kid through buckling up. After nearly ten minutes of frustration, they were on their way with Remy firmly buckled in.

At first, the kid had been very still, huddled as far from Henri as he could get, pressed right up against the side door. That didn't last long. The excitement and awe of being in a car seemed to take over. The boy had put the sunglasses back on, but even so, Henri could tell he was watching the lights go by outside the window. He didn't say anything, but that's when he began to squirm.

Henri thought he might have been frightened. But when Remy had turned to look out the rear window, he'd caught the smile on his face. Funny how much healthier a smile made the kid look. He was clearly excited. The smile stayed, and Remy kept trying to view everything through the windows the best he could. He swung his head from each window, tried to push up in the seat, twisting, turning, squirming. One moment the kid was pressed to the passenger side, the next he was a veritable contortionist leaning as far as possible out of the seat to look out the rear windshield. Kid wasn't there but a few seconds before he'd swung to look at something else. It was distracting.

And he was making a mess of seat's upholstery. Henri looked on in dismay. How could one kid hold so much dirt? And the movement. It was literately pressing the dirt into the seat. Henri grimaced. It would take forever to get that seat clean again. And the windows. They'd have to be cleaned too. The kid was smearing his dirty hands all over the place. If he kept it up, the kid might not be able to see outside with all the smear marks. _Merde._ How did the kid manage to have that much energy? One minute he looked like he would pass out from hunger. Now, he was acting like Emil did after eating an entire bag of cotton candy.

Good thing it was a relatively short car ride.

Henri pulled into the driveway just past 1:00 in the morning. The kid seemed to calm down some when he turned the car off. He stopped gazing out the window, and scooted back to the door, watching Henri's every move instead.

Henri got out of the car, and walked over to open Remy's door. The kid had watched him the entire way and moved in the opposite direction as far as the seat belt would allow.

"I'm jus' gonna to get your seat belt off now, okay?" The kid didn't say anything, didn't move. Henri reached over to the buckle. Still, the kid didn't move. His hand was just inches away from the buckle when it happened. Henri quickly backed out of the car, holding a hand over his eye, and smacking his head on the top of the car in his haste. The kid had kicked him! Right in the face! _Merde_, that hurt! He'd have a black eye for sure.

Henri glared at him. Fine. No touching the seat belt. Got it. Kid could have just told him. Not that he'd said anything at all to him since Fullard's, but still.

Remy hadn't moved. Still was just warily watching him.

"Look, you can't just stay in the car. To get out, I have to take you seat belt off, okay? I'm not going to hurt you, just get the seat belt off." Henri waited. Remy said nothing. Still didn't move. Mon dieu. Fine. He wasn't going to take another ten minutes to walk the kid through taking off the seat belt.

Henri bent down again, into the car. This time he didn't move slowly but quickly, reaching over and undoing the buckle, then backing out of the car as fast as he could. The kid didn't move or take his eyes off of him, but he didn't kick him this time either. An improvement.

"Are ya gonna get out?" Remy hesitated a few more seconds, then slowly began to crawl out of the car. Henri backed up, giving the kid plenty of room. Shutting the door, Henri led the way over to the house. The kid followed, at a distance.

It wasn't anything like the dump Fullard had. The LeBeau's house wasn't quite a mansion, but it wasn't your run-of-the-mill suburbia home either. Set on the outskirts of New Orleans, they had a large lot, with the back opening out into the swampy bayou. The brick house was large and old, but kept in the best of condition. Not too fancy on the outside and set far enough back from the street, it didn't immediately attract a lot of attention. But walking up to it, Henri could tell the kid was impressed. Then again, what wouldn't be impressive after that hell hole?

Henri took the boy to a side door, through the dark mud room, and straight into the kitchen. He flipped the light on, and turned to look at his new brother. The oversized sunglasses looked ridiculous on his face. He looked so small and out of place in Tante's immaculate kitchen. Emaciated and dirty, he didn't blend in here at all. The kitchen was spotless, white and pale yellow tiles gleamed, everything carefully put away. Clean, except for the dirty foot prints the boy had tracked in. _Merde,_ Henri thought.He'd hear from Tante Mattie about this. She hated it when he dragged dirt into her kitchen.

The hall light turned on and Henri could hear movement. The kid was shifting his feet, looking everything over. Henri hoped his father would get in here soon. He wasn't sure what to do now that the kid was here.

As if on cue, the kitchen door opened, and Jean Luc came in, followed by Tante Mattie and his wife.

"Everything go alright?" Jean Luc asked. Business first.

"Fullard was a bit stubborn, but yeah. It went alright," Henri said. Jean Luc nodded and turned his attention to the boy. Yes, that was him. Like he remembered. Same sunglasses, same messy hair. Same frightened look. And just as horribly thin. What had Fullard done to this kid? When was the last time he'd eaten?

"Here, I'll get some food made up." Tante Mattie moved over to the fridge, and began rummaging around for some hearty leftovers. The matronly woman hadn't said anything, but Jean could tell she wanted to help the kid the moment she saw him. Jean-Luc knew he could count on Mattie to do just that. The kindly woman was a surrogate mother to the entire guild, sweet and caring but also unafraid to point out when they were wrong.

"What would you like, cherie?" Tante Mattie was peering back over her shoulder at the chile, waiting for an answer. The boy didn't say anything, just stood awkwardly in the corner he'd quickly pressed himself into once inside the kitchen. To Jean-Luc, it was apparent the kid was overwhelmed and wouldn't even know what to ask for if he truly even thought he was allowed to speak.

"Why not heat up some of the gumbo from supper? He seemed to perk up when I mentioned it earlier," Henri said. Jean-Luc smiled. Henri already seemed to have taken a liking to the kid, all the better.

"Gumbo it is, and the best in all of Louisiana, I can tell you that." Mattie busily set about her task once again.

Satisfied the immediate issue of getting food ready for the starving kid was being taken care of, Jean-Luc decided to try to learn a bit more about the newest member of his guild. Truly, he had been impressed by the boy's skill, but it was more than that. Something about the frail frame, yet the audacity the kid showed in even trying to pick his pocket appealed to Jean Luc. There was just something irresistible about this kid. He began to move towards the boy, intent on speaking with the child, but Henri intercepted him halfway across the room, halting his progress. Jean-Luc looked questioningly at him, but Henri just gently shook his head.

"Here you are child, hot gumbo, some fresh fruit, and I even managed to find a cookie these gents didn't get to yet!" Mattie cheerfully stated as she laid the food out on the table and pulled a chair out for the boy.

He didn't move. Instead, the kid remained silent, timidly looking from face to face and appearing for all the world as if he didn't understand what was going on. Then Merci came in.

"Père, the room's ready and I've got some things laid out for a bath…" She abruptly stopped, taking in the scene in the kitchen. Jean-Luc imagined it was an odd sight. Tante still standing by the pulled out chair, food steaming on the table. himself and Henri standing intent on the fragile looking child quivering in the corner.

The child. He was a mess. Tiny, thin, Jean-Luc had never seen anything quite so awful. In the guild he'd seen gruesome wounds, was witness to some horrible acts. But this… mon dieu, this should never happen to a child.

And he was terrified. That much was clear.

"Honey, why don't you go and call Alexander, . I think a little check up might be in order." Merci gave her husband a pointed look and Henri simply nodded and left the room to do as she asked.

"Père, why don't you sit down too? I think a little food might be good for all of us." She calmly walked over to cupboards to grab a few more sets of plates. She glanced back imploringly at Jean-Luc and Tante, trying to convey what she was trying to do.

"I think you're right, Merci. A little food does sound good." Jean smiled and nodded her way and headed over to sit down at the opposite end of the table from where the food had been laid out for the boy. He needed to get himself together and rethink what was going on here. He knew taking a child in from the streets wasn't going to be easy, he'd known introducing a new member to the family, to the guild would be difficult. But still, he'd never really quite taken it in. Realized that the adept pickpocket he'd caught a glimpse of that day was a broken, terrified child. Jean's heart clenched at the thought. It seemed Henri wasn't the only one already a bit taken by this waif.

Tante seemed to catch on to what he and Merci were trying to do and went over to help with the food. Maybe, if they just backed off a little, sat down and calmly ate in the middle of the night, the boy would calm enough to sit and eat some as well.

For a long time the boy stayed where he was, watching from behind those oversized sunglasses. The food was prepared, table set, and Tante and Merci both sat down with Jean-Luc and did their best to eat and pretend they weren't watching him.

Slowly, ever so slowly he inched forward toward the pulled out chair and the food. Bit by bit he crept forward, constantly looking to see if any of the adults in the room were moving. When nothing happened, he moved forward and eased himself up into the chair. Still nothing. With one last wary look, he began to eat.

Jean-Luc sighed. One hurdle down. They all ate quietly, the boy digging into the food with a fervor that suggested he was frightened it would be taken away from him. He jumped slightly when Henri came back in, but calmed down quickly enough when he went and sat down by Jean-Luc.

Meal finished, Merci, Tante, and Henri all quietly putting the dishes away Jean-Luc decided it was time. He walked slowly over to the boy and squatted down by his chair, at eye level. He was pleased the boy didn't bolt off the chair and return to the corner. The kid maybe scared and untrusting, but he had spunk too.

"My name's Jean-Luc. Do yah remember me?" He asked quietly. "You tried to take my wallet about a month ago…"

The boy nodded, biting his lower lip. "Ah didn' mean tah, ah mean, ah jus…"

"Non, it's alright. I'm not upset." Jean nodded towards the empty plate. "Was da food good?" The boy nodded. "Would you like a bit more?"

"Non, full."

"Alright." He paused. "What's your name?"

"Remy."

"Remy, huh? Nice name." Jean motioned towards his son. "You met my son Henri earlier. That pretty woman by the sink is his wife, Merci and Tante Mattie is over there by the fridge." He waited, let the boy – _Remy_ – look them all over, take in their names.

"No one here is going to hurt ya, alright? I know you don't know us, and that's fine, but I jus' wanted to let ya know." Remy just nodded a bit. "You tired?" Another nod. "Alright. Tante, can you show him up to his room? Everything should be ready. Just come back down once he's settled." Mattie nodded, smiling, approval in her eyes as she looked at him. She walked over and squatted next to him, looking the small child in the face.

"Jean-Luc's a good man. And that bed's mighty soft. Why don't you just follow ol' Tante up, huh? I promise, you'll be feeling much better in da morning for having slept." She stood and headed towards the door.

Remy looked around, taking in Henri and Merci's smiling faces, and finally giving Jean-Luc one final long look. He nodded slightly, stood and quietly followed Mattie up the stairs.

---

They all waited silently in the kitchen until Tante came back down thirty minutes later. Jean raised an eyebrow in question.

"He's sleeping. Honestly, I didn't do much more than get 'im in a nightshirt and wipe his face a bit. Poor chile was exhausted. I think he was just too tired to worry or fight over this anymore." She sank heavily into one of the kitchen chair, her careworn face seeming older than it had ever before.

"Henri?" Jean wasn't even sure what he wanted to know. He had so many questions, who the kid was, if getting him out of Fullard's went alright, why the sunglasses? Somehow, he had the irrational feeling that he wanted to know everything. Everything that was wrong so he could make it right.

"Honestly, père? I don't know. Fullard, dat place…" Henri sighed, leaning back against the countertops. "Fullard's a drunk idiot. I don't know how, but he's apparently had da kid since he was jus' a baby, a year old? Younger maybe? I don't know. Remy's five, from what I could gather. Kid's definitely his best pickpocket, and Fullard sure as hell didn't want to let 'im go. Kept mentioning another interested party, but I don't…I'm not sure." Henri paused. "The kid, though. He's quiet now, but I can tell, he's got spunk. Skitterish as hell, though. Damn near took my head off when I went to unbuckle his seatbelt." He laughed a little, rubbing at his sore eye. "Smart too. More than a kid that age should be. I think you were right, he's something special."

Jean nodded. He'd gathered as much from the brief time they'd spent together already. Remy was wary around them but smart and bold enough. And the way he moved…the boy had talent. Even starved his movements had a grace about them that was unusual, even in their circle.

"But père, there's more. The sunglasses? Kid's a mutant."

"What?" Jean-Luc looked up, startled. "What do ya mean?"

"His eyes – I've never seen anything like it. They're red on black, and I swear dey glow." Henri rubbed a hand over his head. "I don't know if that's it or if there's more, but I thought I should let ya know now before you see for yourself."

It was quiet in the kitchen. Everyone waited while Jean sat there, rubbing at his neck. The clock ticked away. It was nearly 2:30 in the morning now. Finally, Tante couldn't take it anymore.

"Jean-Luc, you are not turning dat chile out. Not now. Not after all this. Dat boy needs help, no matter if he's of use to you and dat guild of your's or not. I thought I knew you better than dis. I always believed you tah be a good man at heart, but if you do dis, turn him out jus 'cause de boys eyes be a bit unusual…"

"Tante, please, calm down." Jean laughed, smiling as he cut off her tirade. "No one's turning him out. He became a part of this family the moment his hand brushed my coat pocket. LeBeau's don't abandon their own." He stood up, grabbed the older woman's hand and gave it a gentle pat. "I'm just trying to decide what we do next. Henri, you call Alex?"

"Oui, he can be here by 11:00 tomorrow."

"Good." Jean looked over everyone in the kitchen, smiling to see that Remy had already wormed his way into all of their hearts. "We'll get Remy checked over tomorrow. See what we need tah get him to full health and what he'll need for the future. We gotta take things slow with him, but we're gonna take care of him. Remy's ours now, nothing is going to change that." Everyone nodded, Henri moving to put his arm around Merci. "Now, how about we all follow Remy's lead and get some sleep?"

Jean waited until everyone had filed away to their own rooms before heading up himself. He stopped at the bedroom door next to his own peeking in to see the occupant safely asleep on his stomach under a heap of blankets. Jean-Luc pulled a chair up next to the bed with all the stealth he possessed as a thief, determined not to wake the clearly exhausted boy. He sat there quietly, watching as the little form rose and fell with each breath.

"You hear dat Remy?" he said, softly brushing back the still filthy hair. "You're a LeBeau now. Ain't nothing gonna change that."

---


End file.
